Colors
by Anotolia
Summary: Isabel sees more than anyone will ever know. Takes place during Independence Day. Complete


Isabel slammed the door to her locker shut. Michael was hiding from her - again. That meant it was bad and he'd gone to ground in the one place she couldn't follow.  
  
Although she was tempted to.  
  
Glancing down the hall, she saw Max hovering ineffectually around Liz. Maybe it was time for Max to learn the truth and this way she could do it without breaking her word.  
  
Later, at the Crashdown, when Max broke his word to Michael about keeping silent. she faked being surprised at what Hank had down, but the horror she felt was real.  
  
One way or another this had to end and soon. She didn't think that Michael could take much more. It showed in his colors.  
  
She just needed to find a way to get them to act.  
  
It had all gone wrong. Isabel could barely breath around the tightness in her chest. How could Michael leave? How could she and Max let him go? There had to have been a way to keep him here - with them.  
  
She knew how much pain and passion Michael had, so much it burst out of him at times. And tonight it had exploded, the problems with Hank, with the sheriff, with her parents... with the world. His need to run...to be free had won out. He was all alone out there, by himself.  
  
She wouldn't sleep tonight.  
  
Isabel jerked upright at the sound of her bedroom window opening. Her first instinct was to yell for help, which she quickly squelched when she recognized the intruder.  
  
Her face split into a huge grin. She couldn't help herself. "Your back," she stated the obvious.  
  
Michael frowned at her, glared at her really. He was dripping wet, soaked through to the skin, shivering from the cold. He looked battered, bruised.... defeated.  
  
He was the best thing she had ever seen.  
  
He was home.  
  
"Let me get you a towel," Isabel couldn't keep the happiness out of her voice. Leaving him dripping onto her floor, she snuck out of her bedroom and into the bathroom, where she quickly gathered up some towels. Then she tiptoed into Max's room. Ignoring her sleeping brother, she grabbed the rolled up sleeping bag sitting in a corner of the room and left as quietly as she came.  
  
Once back in her bedroom, she ignored the way Michael flinched when she helped him out of his clothes and into some of Max's. He was a rainbow of colors. Everywhere she touched him his colors mingled and blended.  
  
He felt raw.  
  
She didn't question his choice in coming to her and not Max. She didn't ask him why he'd come back at all. Too heart glad that he had returned at all to risk pressuring him.  
  
Once he was settled on the floor next to her bed, she climbed back under the covers and rolled to the edge. Lying on her stomach she let her hand dangle over the side and onto his back, rubbing gently.  
  
She hadn't needed the bruises to know when Hank was on a tear, although she'd noticed them of course and unobtrusively healed them when she could. The abuse had been going on a lot longer than Max thought, she knew and it had consisted of a lot more than a single black eye. His colors had practically screamed it at her. And lately they had been becoming darker and darker - almost black as Michael's desperation grew.  
  
It was why she was so frantic to get him away from Hank.  
  
Michael was blind to the colors.   
  
So was Max.   
  
It seemed to be a gift that only she had and unlike dream walking she kept this one to herself not sharing it with the others.   
  
Maria would have called what she saw auras and Maria's was a brilliant red, fiery hot and intense.  
  
Liz and Max were different shades of blue. Liz was a pale powder blue, with occasional streaks of a deeper shade. Max's was much more vibrant, aqua or teal, she could never quite decide which. He reminded her of the ocean, with more going on underneath the surface than anyone would ever imagine.  
  
Alex was green, pulsing and alive. He made her feel like spring, reminding her of newborn things and the smell of fresh mowed grass.  
  
She didn't know what her own colors were, couldn't see them. Sometimes she thought she was like a crystal or a window that colors passed through.  
  
Michael was all their colors combined and more, a kaleidoscope constantly shifting. Deeper and darker and every shade in between. And if she was a like clear glass then he was a blazing mirror that reflected the others.   
  
Michael became more passionate around Maria. Calmer and more centered around Max or Liz. More paranoid around the sheriff. If the colors were anything to go by, then Michael's empathy influenced him every single day and was probably one of the reasons he had so much trouble using his powers. Not only did he have his own emotions to deal with, but everybody else's.  
  
"Is?" Michael's voice was barely a whisper.  
  
"Yeah," she kept her own just as quiet.  
  
"That feels good."   
  
"I'm glad." Smiling to herself, Isabel lay in the dark stroking her best friends back, watching his colors swirl. 


End file.
